


Fairy Tale Fantasies

by misscinny



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 04:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5234378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscinny/pseuds/misscinny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan is disappointed that she was unable to dress up at the Winter Palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Tale Fantasies

Vhildere curled her legs close to her body, resting her chin on her knees. She heard the sound of a chess piece slide across the board in front of her, though she wasn’t very focused. The Inquisition had just recently returned from the Winter Palace, and she was so pleased that she had managed to save Empress Celene with minimal bloodshed. She was so proud that she had figured out the tactics to ‘The Game,’ and actually thought it rather enjoyable once she finally understood. But she found it disappointing that she did not get to look the part. It was hard enough that she was a Dalish elf at a Shem Masquerade, but she didn’t even get to wear the pretty clothes like the honored guests.

“I have you captured in three moves,” Cullen informed, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced down at the board, unsure of what move he had even made.

“Probably,” she admitted with a small, defeated snort. She reached up and pushed a piece forward thoughtlessly. She glanced up at Cullen, casting him a small, apologetic smile. He shook his head, leaning forward and shifting a piece across the board.

“Or, I could have just cheated this entire time.” Clack. “Check.”

It was quiet on Vhildere’s side of the board as she stared at it absently. She simply couldn’t keep her mind in their shared game today; even though it was one of her favorite pastimes, and with her favorite person. Her mind kept going back to the beautiful dresses that were tailored to the point of extreme extravagance. Expensive fabrics dyed in bright and bold colors, layered, tiered, and bejeweled. Vhildere couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous, especially when she had caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror wearing the honorary Inquisition Pants Suit.

“You seem very distracted today,” Cullen remarked after a long moment of silence. “I hope you’re not finding my company lacking.”

Her eyes shot up, meeting with his. There was a small, playful grin on his lips, but she could see the hint of doubt in his expression. They had been together for a few months now, and spent nearly every moment of their unprofessional lives around one another. Yet he still kept an air of uncertainty when it came to their relationship. It was as if he felt unworthy of her, and in constant need of her reassurance. She reached across the distance between them, resting her hand on top of his. He turned his hand over, palm against palm. Gentle fingers gripped in a soft squeeze.

“Don’t be silly! Your company is always perfect,” she assured. “I was just thinking about our trip to the Winter Palace, is all.”

“It must be important if it’s interrupting my time with you,” Cullen commented as he rubbed his thumb across Vhildere’s knuckles. She took pleasure in the simple motion, momentarily distracted as she watched his thumb trace back and forth over her pale skin.

She blinked out of her trance. “Right. Well, it may seem silly, but…” She trailed off for a moment, combing her free hand through her hair, pulling some tangles loose at the same time. “I must ask: Who decided on the uniform for the Inquisition?”

Cullen furrowed his brow, looking slightly confused. “It was a unanimous decision between the advisors. We all felt it was best for us to give the impression of unity within the organization. It took a bit of convincing to put Leliana in red. She kept complaining that a red-head should not be put in such a color.” His smirk reappeared as he recalled the incident. “Why do you ask?”

It started to seem more ridiculous as Vhildere thought about it. Of course it made sense why they wore the uniforms. She had to sneak around the palace, climb a trellis, and even fight. It would not have been very efficient to perform any of those tasks in a giant hoop skirt and a corset. And why would Cullen even care about such things? This was a man that spent most of his time in plated armor. Orlesian fashion was probably the farthest thing from his mind. Cullen’s curious gaze pushed her to speak, anyway.

“Growing up as a Dalish, I wasn’t exposed to a lot of Shemlen customs. When I was small, my father would sometimes sneak me books he had taken from the caravans of human travelers. I would keep them hidden in a satchel, as our Keeper was not very fond of anything related to humans. The books had always fascinated me, especially when they were illustrated. They were filled with fantasies about princesses and nobles; soirees hosted by royal families and attended by only the finest. There was this one story always stood out to me. I had read it so many times that the pages had started to fall out.

“A young peasant girl had managed to get her hands onto an invitation to a ball. With the help of her fellow servants, she attended the ball in a beautiful gown, and caught the eye of the prince. The two had fallen madly in love, and despite social caste, the two married.”

Vhildere paused and smiled, a bit embarrassed with her confession. Still, she continued. “I hoped that maybe I could have done something like that. A Dalish nobody, wearing a big, beautiful gown, catching the eye of the handsome commander, and dancing with him across the ballroom floor as the guests all look on with fascination. It would have been fun to act out one of my favorite stories.”

Cullen was silent as he listened. When Vhildere had finished talking, he gave her hand one more squeeze before resetting the board. “I can see how that would be disappointing, but given the nature of the mission-”

He cut himself off suddenly, as if a thought had interrupted him. He quirked an eyebrow, then he shook his head.

“Anyway. Your move.”

***

It was great having a few days to relax. After the long trip to Halamshiral, the exhausting dealings with Orlesians, and having to judge Florianne immediately upon their return, Vhildere was ready to have some time to herself. Nothing was planned for the next three days, and she had intended to spend that time with friends. She wandered around the Keep for a long time, until she finally found herself in the small library that was located in Skyhold’s tower. Dorian had smiled at her from his seat, patting his lap. Vhildere smiled and gratefully obliged, hopping into his lap. They sat together in silence for a long time; Dorian reading from his plethora of books, and Vhildere simply enjoying the company.

This was one of her favorite places to get away from the stresses of the Inquisition. Dorian never talked about duty when they were in the nook. It seemed like an unspoken rule. Usually, they would gossip with one another, talking and joking about their companions. The subject would sometimes switch to Dorian and The Iron Bull, though he never embellished on their relationship. Vhildere was genuinely curious though, and would often tease for information. He would always dampen her inquiries by asking if she and Cullen had yet gone to the next level.

‘Touche,’ she would reply with a blush, and that would typically be the end of the questions.

But today, the Vint and the Dale both sat quietly, simply enjoying each other’s company.

“There you are, Inquisitor!” A feminine voice exclaimed. Vhildere’s pointed ears twitched at the sound, and she looked to find Josephine standing at the top of the steps. She deflated against Dorian at the sight of the advisor. Josephine never sought her out unless it was regarding matters of the Inquisition. Vhildere was in no mood to deal with anything of the sort today.

A noise that sounded like a mix of a whimper and a groan escaped her lips. Dorian gave Vhildere a reassuring squeeze on the arm in response.

“Miss Lavellan,” Josephine said as she cleared the distance between them. “I need to discuss some business with you.”

Vhildere frowned at the Antivan. “This can’t wait until later?” The question was almost a plea.

“I’m afraid it’s urgent,” Josephine replied.

Dorian pecked a reassuring kiss on the top of Vhildere’s head. “Don’t worry, darling. We can continue this later.” He gave her a playful grin. She returned the smile, then begrudgingly slid out of his lap. She slipped into place next to the advisor and the two of them made their way down the stairs.

“My Lady, I have been informed that during the visit to the Winter Palace, the Inquisition has caught the attention from one of the Comtes in attendance. He is interested in supporting our cause, but would like to have a formal meeting first,” she informed, flipping through the papers on her clipboard.

“It’s always good to gain allies,” Vhildere said as they cut through the solarium. “Set up a meeting. I’ll be glad to speak with him.”

Josephine stopped, giving the Inquisitor an uneasy look. Vhildere was uncomfortable with her expression.

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s already on his way to Skyhold. And he has a few… demands.”

Now Vhildere felt uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons. What kind of demands would this guy want? She wasn’t going to do anything outside of reason. There was no way she could allow it, and she knew for a fact that Cullen would likely eviscerate anyone that tried anything questionable with her. Her mind wandered in several directions at once as it mulled over the word ‘demands.’

“Okay,” she finally said in a low tone. “What does he want?”

Josephine scanned over a page, pointing at something. “Ah. He said that he wants the Inquisitor to dress in fine Orlesian wear. He refuses to speak to you unless you are presentable.” She looked up from her clipboard and sighed. “If you don’t speak with him after he makes this long trip, our reputation in Orlais will definitely decline. We may lose a lot of support from those that are already backing us.”

“Ah.” Vhildere said simply. “What are his other demands?”

A perfectly manicured finger traced along the lines on the paper. “It is mostly about how the setting should be. This man is… very specific about the ambience.” Josephine waved a hand to dismiss it. “But, what’s important is that we get you into the proper attire. We have just enough time to get you outfitted and tailored before he gets here.”

The advisor placed a hand on the small of the Inquisitor’s back and lead her out of the solarium, towards her quarters. Vhildere slumped as she walked alongside Josephine. This was not fair. She did not want to have to dress up for some strange man, and possibly have to fight off his lecherous advances. She didn’t want to have to feign interest in some boring meeting. She was not willing to hear racial slurs against the Dalish while a high and mighty Orlesian Noble mocks sympathetic for her people. This was her time off. The only stress she was willing to deal with was to be on constant guard against Sera’s pranks.

Upon entering her private chambers, she saw serving girls bustling around; pulling items from her wardrobe, comparing materials to one another, murmuring about colors and styles. A small, fair haired elf appeared next to Vhildere. She grabbed the Inquisitor by the wrist and dragged her to a stepping stool. She motioned for her to step onto it, and Vhildere obeyed the silent command, a bit confused.

A comely woman came to stand before her. She had curled dark hair, fair skin, and round, grey eyes that were framed by a small black mask. Her full figure was outfitted with magnificent clothing. Her black corset top was pulled tight, accentuating both her waist and her bust at the same time. The hoop skirt she wore was long, ruched and hemmed with ornate lace. Vhildere couldn’t help but admire the simple yet elegant detailing of her outfit. The woman’s gloved hands reached out, tracing along Vhildere’s silhouette. She let out a blatant grunt of distaste.

“I am Charlotte,” she finally spoke with a delicate voice. “I have been hired by your advisor to outfit you in the finest Orlesian fashion.” Her thick accent made her emphasize each syllable and speak slowly. “I must admit, I have never been asked to tailor for a…” Charlotte hesitated. Her flingers curled into her palms as she pulled her hands away. A corner of her upper lip twitched before finishing with, “A serving girl.”

Vhildere’s eyes narrowed, her expression settling into a glare. She turned her livid gaze to Josephine, who was still near the entrance of the Inquisitor’s chambers. The Antivan had a horrified expression on her face.

“Well, then. Perhaps, Josie, you would like to leave your clipboard in my servant hands and go fetch the Inquisitor. I’ll keep this lovely woman company, whom will never again receive an invitation to Skyhold.”

Josephine scratched a harsh line across the clipboard in her hands. “Of course, my lady,” she concurred.

The tailor gasped. Vhildere turned her icy glare back to her. “By the way, I’m Dalish,” she felt the need to add.

The next several minutes were filled with empty apologies. Vhildere would not even dignify the Orlesian with a response. The woman that was previously beautiful in her eyes was now an ugly insult, and she didn’t even want to look at her. She spent her entire life being told by her Keeper that the Shemlen had a very poor outlook on the Elvhen. Before her trip to Orlais, Vhildere would have strongly disagreed. She was typically treated very well by the people of the Inquisition. She liked to think that she got along with all races. She was best friends with one human, and had deep feelings for another. Her outlook had turned so positive despite what she had been taught growing up. But, Orlesians - they left a very bitter taste in her mouth.

Articles of clothing were removed, and Vhildere stood on the stool in just her small clothes. Rolls of fabric were unravelled and wrapped around her on designated parts of her body. Elves fussed and pinned as Charlotte spoke to them in her native tongue. Cuts were made here, folds were tucked there, needles occasionally poked into sensitive flesh. Vhildere didn’t pay much attention, her mind wandering elsewhere. She avoided looking at herself in the mirror as the fabric began to take shape into a gown.

This was still so unfair. This wasn’t how she wanted to be presented. Not to some snob that was so desensitized to magnificence. He wouldn’t even realize how much effort would be put into the Inquisitor to look ‘presentable.’ She realized that was partially her fault, though, as she typically put minimal work into her appearance.

After what seemed like hours, Charlotte seemed pleased with her progress. The fabric was gently pulled off of Vhildere, and the tailor informed her that she would need the rest of the evening to sew it together.

Her legs and feet ached from standing in one place for so long. She slowly hobbled off of the stool and made her way to her bed; flopping face first into the mattress and releasing a slow exhale. She had hoped to return to Dorian after Josephine had finished with her. But with a quick glance out of the window, Vhildere knew that wasn’t likely going to happen. The sun had set, and the stars were starting to peek out beneath the blanket of the night sky. Dorian usually liked to visit with The Iron Bull at night, and that was not an interruption she was willing to make.

Instead, she decided to call it an early night. She tucked herself into the bed, the covers warming her exposed skin. She ignored the stinging marks that had been made from several needle pricks and the throbbing in her lower extremities as she slowly fell asleep.

***

“Okay, be honest. How do I look?”

Vhildere stood in front of Leliana and Josephine, wearing the completed gown. She was amazed at how fast Charlotte and her elf workers could create clothing. It had only taken two days from start to finish, all the pieces assembled to make one beautiful piece of work. The dress was a deep shade of emerald green, and made of silken materials. It had a corset top that Vhildere was certain had been pulled too tightly. The boning cut into her ribs, and she almost had to strain to breathe. The long skirt of the gown flowed away from her hips, resting a mere inch above the ground, and it billowed from the layers of black tulle underneath. Vhildere was certain that she was going to stumble on her own feet, as she would not be able to see anything but puffy skirt as she walked. She would admit, though: she did love the white lace trim that wrapped around the hem of her skirt and on the bust of her corset, and the flowing sleeves that seemed to float in the air when she moved her arms.

“It is perfect on you,” Leliana answered, smiling as she admired the garment.

“It is absolutely beautiful,” Josephine marvelled next to Leliana. The two of them had spent a lot of time fussing over Vhildere, curling her hair and pinning it back to create a cascade of waves and loops on the back of her head and against the nape of her neck. Makeup was tediously applied, despite her protests. She had been fairly impressed with Leliana’s skill with a set of small brushes the last time, though, and she eventually conceded. The curiosity of her appearance finally got the best of her, and she slowly turned herself towards the full length mirror.

A frown darkened her features upon seeing her reflection.

“Oh dear,” she heard Josephine remark as she walked over to her side. “Is there something wrong with the dress?” She began plucking at the seams of the gown and fluffing the skirt.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s gorgeous,” Vhildere huffed. She was unable to stop glaring at herself in the mirror.

“May I ask why you look as though you’re about to murder someone, then?” Josephine asked carefully.

Vhildere clenched her jaw as she touched a hand to her stomach. The fabric was so beautiful, the tailoring was flawless, and the color was a perfect accent to the fair tone of her skin. Still, she was unable to appreciate the magnificent attention to detail.

“This is so unfair, Josie,” she muttered. “Here I stand in the most beautiful dress I have ever laid my eyes upon. I look more feminine than I think I ever have before. Every little detail is perfectly in place, and it is all for some Orlesian Noble.” Her livid expression shifted, appearing more melancholy. “I had hoped that someday, I would be able to dress like a Princess for my Prince Charming. Not for someone that would hardly even acknowledge me.”

The two advisors briefly exchanged concerned looks. “I’m so sorry,” Josephine apologized, placing a hand over her own heart. “But, my Lady, it’s not-”

“Something that can be negotiated,” Leliana finished, shooting a glare towards her friend. Josephine bit her bottom lip to hold back a protest. The rogue slipped into place next to Vhildere, smiling at the elf’s reflection. “You know what always makes me feel better?” She didn’t even wait for a response as she procured a pair of green velvet slippers, as if from nowhere. “Putting on the finest pair of shoes in all of Skyhold.”

Vhildere was unable to hold back a tiny chuckle. This was so familiar, like when she first kissed Cullen. Well, was forced into it by her friends, more so. Still, it was one of her favorite memories. Putting on a pretty dress, getting her makeup done, all in a successful attempt at wooing the Commander. Her eyes burned as tears formed, but she blinked them away. She refused to cry because of her unfortunate circumstances.

Sniffing, she slid her feet into her shoes and forced a smile. “Okay, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s get this over with.”

***

Before Vhildere even pushed the door out to the garden, she could hear the light sound of music. It was undoubtedly Maryden playing on her sitar - she knew that sound anywhere. There were too many occasions when she had escaped to Herald’s Rest for some relaxation, and to hide away from the war table. Her stomach turned as she thought of the stigma she was going to associate Maryden’s music with, now. She’ll have to find a different place to hide, now. With a sigh of disgust, she pushed the wooden door open.

A unseasonably warm breeze greeted Vhildere as she stepped out onto the terrace. The sun had already gone down for the evening, but bright lighting had shown through the tall bushes that blocked her view. She side stepped a few times and found that candles had been lit everywhere. They were on the ground, on tables, and on stands. Every inch of the garden was illuminated with a soft yellow glow. She wasn’t even certain Skyhold had this many candles in it’s possession.

She took a few steps from the terrace and onto the grass, her gaze turning upwards. Her eyes raked over the attention to detail: gossamer curtains hanging on pillars, golden lion’s heads placed on the walls, evenly spaced and reflecting the light of the candles. It looked a lot like the ballroom of the Winter Palace, she noticed. Vhildere’s brows furrowed as her eyes shifted over the ambience. This had an almost romantic feel to it. Oh, Creators. She certainly hoped this wasn’t-

“I had specifically asked for you to wear a mask. Now I feel a bit silly wearing mine,” a deep, familiar voice spoke behind her. Vhildere whipped around and find Cullen standing in the gazebo. He was wearing a simple black suit, with gold buttons and trim. The top two buttons remained undone, showing a white silken shirt beneath. The upper half of his face was covered in a white mask, but there was no denying who it was. Vhildere could pick him out of a crowd of masked men with that broad physique and confident stance, alone.

She let out a tiny, relieved laugh, leaning against a nearby table as her vision blurred with tears. “Cullen,” her voice shook. “Please tell me this was all for you.”

Cullen stepped down from the gazebo and cleared the distance between them. “Don’t be ridiculous,” his deep voice spoke as he stood before her. A gloved hand reached up and wiped away a tear that had managed to trail down Vhildere’s cheek. “This was for a little Dalish girl that has always had fairy tale fantasies.”

Vhildere suddenly slapped Cullen in the center of his chest, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. “You had me believe that I was doing this for some Orlesian Lech!” she growled. She slapped his chest again. “You don’t understand how angry I was that I couldn’t dress up for you!”

Cullen caught her hand before it could land on his chest again, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It was not my intention to upset you,” he assured. He lifted her hand to his lips, placing whisper of a kiss on her knuckles. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

Vhildere opened her mouth to tell him just what she thought of his ‘surprise.’ But, before she could protest any more, Cullen held her hand out and placed his other hand on her waist. He gently coaxed her to step to the left. Sniffing, she conceded and began to follow his movement. Her free hand rested on his large bicep, and the two of them began to move in rhythm with Maryden’s music.

“You know, My Lady,” Cullen started with a smirk, “I’m glad you decided to dance with me, tonight.” The two moved in a single sweeping motion, causing them to switch sides. Vhildere stumbled over her own feet for a moment, but fell back into rhythm with ease.

“O-Oh really?” she stammered.

“Absolutely. The moment I saw you, I thought to myself, ‘That is the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes upon.’”

Vhildere’s blush was hidden as she was spun around in a twirl, then quickly pulled back into Cullen’s arms.

“The most beautiful? Even though I’m an elf?” She asked as they side-stepped. “Think of the scandal!”

“If it’s forbidden, then we’ll just have to run away together,” Cullen said in a playful tone. “But first, I must sweep my princess off of her feet.”

In one swift motion, Cullen had Vhildere in the air. Strong hands gripped her waist as he spun her in a circle. She squealed and gripped his arms, though she knew that he would never drop her. His strong muscles in his arms flexed beneath her hands as he held her. Her skirt flowed as they moved, encircling Cullen’s body and wrapping him in layers of silk and tulle. Their shared laughter echoed through the garden.

Just as she thought she would get dizzy, he stopped. He began to lower her slowly, the length of her body rubbing against his as she came down. He paused when her face was mere inches from his, the two of them sharing a heated gaze. Vhildere pushed Cullen’s mask away and rested her hands on either side of his stubbled jaw. His mouth parted as she rubbed the pad of her thumb across his lush bottom lip.

“You really are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” he whispered, his warm breath brushing against her face. She responded with a simple smile before pressing a long, lingering kiss on his lips.

“You’re not such a bad Shem yourself,” she teased after she had pulled away.

A smile stretched across Cullen’s lips at her remark. He eased her down slowly, then leaned in to press another kiss on her lips. The two of them continued to sway rhythmically as Maryden plucked away on her sitar. Vhildere rested her cheek against Cullen’s chest, simply enjoying the sound of his heartbeat. 

The night may not have started out as she had expected, but it had ended perfectly. She was elated to be with the person she cared about the most, and that he had gone through so much effort to just make her happy. Her Prince had done more than physically sweep her off her feet, tonight.

‘Perhaps Fairy Tales do come true, sometimes,’ she thought with a contented sigh.


End file.
